Desperate
by sxpernatural
Summary: Takes place after Road Trip (9x10). Sam does not survive having both Crowley and Gadreel inside of his head. It's up to Dean and Castiel to try and bring Sam back, while simultaneously fighting both Abbadon's army of demons, and Bartholomew's army of fallen angels. How far will they go to reclaim what was once theirs?
1. Chapter 1

"Sammy?" I whispered, clutching his body to me. I let one tear escape. I felt it roll down my cheek, slowly at first, but then with more force. It gained speed, sliding around the outline of my nose, down my lips, and finally off my chin. I rubbed the heel of my hand ferociously into my eyes. I would not cry. I did this to him. I let Ezekel-Gadreel, whatever- inside him. It was my fault he was dead, and I would bring him back.

Crowley said he could fix Sam, that he could get Gadreel out. Too many minds in one body. It destroyed him. It destroyed him and Crowley and Gadreel got away and Sam… no. I refuse to believe it. Sam was not dead, not permanently. There was an answer out there and I would find it.

"Cas!" I screamed, although he was standing right behind me. He knelt down beside me, and I felt the smooth material of his godforsaken trench coat sliding across my arm.

"Dean," he began, in the voice that was both rough and smooth at the same time. The voice that seemed to hold the answers to all the worlds' questions, yet, simultaneously, in that moment, sounded as desperate for answers as I was. He cleared his throat. "Dean," he continued, "I'll try but…I don't know how much I can do. I've never seen anything like this attempted before. An angel and a demon, simultaneously sharing a host. We knew it was dangerous. I don't know where to begin. I-I'm sorry Dean."

I bit my bottom lip until I tasted blood, enjoying the pain. Enjoying being able to feel.

I closed my eyes so not to look at Sam's… body. I couldn't bring my mind to think the word _corpse_. I couldn't associate it with my Sammy. Body I could deal with. Body meant hope. Body meant life. Body meant coming back. But _corpse_? Corpse was used for the disintegrating. For those who have been with the ground for so long they become one with it. I would never use that word for Sammy. Ever.

"Just try. Try something." I tried to scream the words, to let out all the frustration I had in them, but they came out as barely more than a whisper. "Just promise you'll try," I said to Castiel. And with that, I laid Sam's head on the ground, got up, dusted off my knees, and walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

"Dean," Cas said, appearing before me, just inches away from my face. His blue eyes searched mine for any sign of the tears that peppered them just moments before.

"Damnit Cas, we've been over this. Personal Space." I said, lowering my face to the ground, so not to look at him and his childish, puppy dog eyes.

Sorry," he said, taking a step back. "Listen, I've been… _working_ on Sam and I noticed something-something odd." His voice was measured, calculated. I could tell he was choosing every word carefully.

"Well?"

"I-I don't know how to explain it. He's not…dead." He paused to see how I would react.

"What do you mean he's not dead? I took his pulse, I watched-I watched it Cas. He's gone."

"Partially, yes. His soul is gone, his spirit is gone, but his body is not entirely lifeless."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. As much as I wanted to believe that Sam was alive, that he could come back, I couldn't. I knew he was gone. I_ knew_ it. "No. Cas, he's been soulless before, but he was still alive in there. His brain was still goin', his chest was still beatin', it just wasn't him. His body's… he's gone this time Castiel. He's gone."

Castiel's face swam before me as tears began clouding my vision. My lip quivered. Damn it. I was not going to do this. I was not going to sit here and cry while Sam was- while he was gone. I was going to go out there and get answers. Find out what was going on. But Cas-he was making no sense.

I rubbed the back of my hand against my eyes, furious.

"Dean, listen to me. Parts of Gadreel are still in him, they haven't left. When an angel possesses a human, they leave behind traces of themselves. And Gadreel, well he was a very powerful angel indeed. He's left behind enough of himself to keep the body…_persevered._ Sam's not inside of there and the physical body isn't alive, but with the piece of Gadreel in there- it's like he's holding a spot for Sam, just in case he wants to wander back in."

I didn't understand. My confusion must've been clear on my face, for Castiel took one glance at me and continued.

"The body is currently dead, yes, but if we can find a way to regain Sam's soul, we can put it back in without any… godly help. I've never seen anything like this Dean, so I'm not positive if this is even going to work, but for now, it looks like our best shot. This could be very dangerous though, I'm not sure how much of Gadreel is left inside Sam. If he senses something, he could try to stop us. I'm not sure of how this all works. I'm sorry Dean, I wish I knew more."

"I'm in," I said without hesitation. I didn't care how dangerous it was. I didn't care if I died in the process. How much is my life worth anyways? All the people who ever got close to me died. I hurt more people than I could save, it was simple. I would do whatever I could, give whatever I had, to save Sam, and after that, I would disappear. Sam could go back with Amelia. Everything could be okay, as long as I couldn't hurt Sammy anymore.

I knew what that meant. I would have to cut ties with Cas too. I tried to imagine a life without Cas, without Sam, without everyone. But then I realized that I either imagined a life without them alive, or without them dead. Because no matter what, either way there was going to come a time when they both left me, everyone does. Either they get killed because of me, or they choose to leave me. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that I knew if I was to walked away, they would survive. They would still have each other, and they would survive.

"What do we do first?" I asked Cas.

"I honestly have no idea. Dean, I don't think you understand, nothing like this has ever happened before. I don't even know where to begin looking for his soul. Heaven? Hell? His soul could not even exist anymore. It could've been ripped to oblivion while they were in there. I'm sorry Dean, but this is not going to be easy." Castiel said, avoiding my eyes.

Then bring it on.


	3. Chapter 3

CASTIEL'S POV

It killed me, lying to Dean like that, but there truly was no other way. I didn't feed him a complete lie, parts were truth.

Sam's body was still half alive- truth.

There were still parts of Gadreel in Sam- truth.

If we could restore Sam's soul into his body, there was a chance he could still live- truth.

The deception lied not in misinformation, but in the information I kept hidden. The information I alone possess. It is true, yes, that Sam can once again live in his body as long as his soul is returned within a certain amount of time. The information I kept to myself, however, was that he could no longer survive in there alone. Once both demon and angel took possession of the vessel at one time, it became addicted to the godliness that then filled it. If Sam were to be added to his body, either an angel or demon would have to live inside of there with him as well. The second he inhabits that body alone is the second he would die, and for good this time.

The small part of Gadreel that had nestled itself inside of his body is enough to keep it alive for now, but it would not be enough to keep Sam alive once his soul re-entered it. As soon as Sam re-inhabited his body, Gadreel would become aware and Sam would be susceptible to full possession again, only this time wouldn't as…_ friendly_ as last time. If Gadreel knew that he once again had access to Sam's vessel, he would jump on the opportunity to possess it again. No more giving Sam partial control. No more hiding out in Sam's body. This would be the end.

Gadreel is fully healed now, and with Sam's body now addicted to the godly presence, he would not be able to force the angel out. Sam would be unable to fight, unable to do anything. So would Dean, for that matter. The only reason I was even the slightest bit optimistic, was that Gadreel hadn't taken control of Sam yet. That meant he didn't know about Sam's addiction, about his power in this situation. The only way that we could save Sam would be to return his soul to his vessel before Gadreel fully understood the situation, and too replace the piece of Gadreel with another full angel as quickly as possible. The more confused and disoriented Gadreel is once he's sucked back into Sam's vessel, the easier he would be to defeat.

I would be the angel that would go inside of Sam. I would offer him full control of the vessel, but I would be inside for his body to feed on. It was the best thing I could do; the only way to repay Sam and Dean for everything that they had done for me. They had offered me friendship, salvation. Both of them, especially Dean, had become more than friends to me, they had become a family. One I was never able to receive up in heaven; one the angels could never offer me. And if there was one thing that these two had taught me, it was that you do anything you can to save family, even if it meant giving your life.

I was worth nothing anyways. I was a murderer. An angel murderer. Sam was pure. He helped, he killed evil, he fought for the salvation this world deserved. This would be my last redeeming act, my final chance to prove what angels were meant to stand for, and I would perform it.

I wasn't sure of how the whole process would work, and I wasn't sure of where Sam's soul was, but I believed I knew where to begin. I knew of one person, possibly the only person, who could fix this situation.

I hiked up my trench coat and exited the Men of Letters Bunker, rubbing my temples and preparing myself for what would possibly be voluntarily opening myself up to slaughter.

I closed my eyes, inhaled slowly, and zapped myself down to the office of the King of hell; the office of Crowley.

*authors note* sorry- I know this chapter was kind of boring! but stay tuned, I promise the next will be a good one!


	4. Chapter 4

CASTIEL'S POV

I opened my eyes to the familiar view of Crowley's office. It flashed me back to a time when I had enjoyed spending time within these walls. When I would sneak away from Dean and Sam in order to meet Crowley down here, discussing the one thing we had in common; a yearning for all the souls in purgatory. I had so truly believed that I was doing the right thing at the time, that I was the only one who could save and restore heaven. I was such a fool.

But then again, was that situation any different than what I was doing now? Turning to hell in order to do what I believe to be right? I shook my head to clear it of the thoughts that were beginning to form. Of course it was different. This was Sam we were dealing with now, not just a group of angels.

Once I had escaped the dark and tangled forest of my thoughts, I finally took in my surroundings, realizing that something was off. The walls were lined in their usual design, a pattern of blood red and midnight black lines chasing each other in never ending spirals from floor to ceiling. The hardwood oak desk and floors were dark and intact as ever. The blood red shag carpet on the ground in the doorway was appropriately shagged, and the black leather chair sitting behind the desk looked as old and abused as the first time I had set foot in the office. I realized, with a start, that the difference was not the room itself, but something within the room. Within the chair, to be exact. Sitting in the black leather chair that usually held up solely Crowley, was a face I never believed I'd see again. Her dark hair was swept over one shoulder, and she was reading a stack of papers on Crowley's desk, her eyebrows and nose scrunched in concentration.

"Sorry folks, the doctor is out," she said, without ever looking up from her paper. I wanted to say something, to signalize to her that it was me standing in the doorway, not just another demon, but for some odd reason, my voice wouldn't work. I struggled to yell at her for not contacting us sooner to say she was okay, to tell her how glad I was to see her alive, to cough, _something_, but I did nothing. I stood awkwardly in the doorway, starring at the face of the one demon I never thought I'd get the chance to lay eyes on again.

She noticed, without looking up, that I had not left, brushed her hand through her hair, irritated, and began to speak. "Look bud, I told you-," she began, cutting herself off when her eyes met mine. She gave me a lingering once over with her eyes, as if not believing what she was seeing, not believing that I was truly there, as though I was the one who had been perceived dead for over a month. Was it just my imagination, or had she rested her eyes on mine a beat too long to be considered casual, before she cleared her throat and said, "Clarence."

"Meg?" I asked in disbelief. "How is this-how are you alive?" I swallowed what felt like a weight that had caught in my throat. Odd.

"Long story. Let's just say it pays to have friends in high places. You hang around with those idiots so often, you should know by now that the dead don't always stay." She said with a smirk, the right side of her mouth lifting slightly higher than the left.

I still couldn't believe my eyes. How was it possible that Meg was sitting there, and with not a scratch to her face. She was right about the Winchesters, to whom I assumed her comment was directed, they had died often, and been reincarnated just as often, but they were… special. But Meg? A demon? What reason would there have been to bring her back? _Who_ would've gone to the trouble to bring her back?

"What's wrong Clarence, you look like you've seen a ghost," she said, wriggling her eyebrows.

"Meg, where's Crowley. It's really quite urgent that I speak to him."

She hopped off the leather chair, leaving it bouncing a bit behind her, and crossed the room over to me in three quick strides.

"Why Clarence," she began, a fake tone of hurtfulness laced through her voice, "here I thought you came all this way to see me."

She took another step closer.

Well that was irrational. "That's irrational, Meg. Why would I have come to see you when I just found out you were still alive a few minutes ago?"

She rolled her eyes, taking a step closer to me. The distance between us was almost non-existent and I could feel her warm breath on my face when she spoke.

"Oh, how I've missed you." She whispered.

Crowley, Cas. You're here to see Crowley. Still, I couldn't deny that I was intrigued. How had she survived? What did she remember from her life? Did she remember the day she died? Did she remember dying? What was it like to be reincarnated if you were a demon? "What do you remember?" I asked, not being able to help myself.

"Are you referring to the deal we made to reenact a certain scene pertaining to a certain pizza man? If so, push you're worries aside Clarence, the promise still stands," she said, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

That had not been what I was implying. I didn't have time for this now; Meg could stand here and work her games on me all night. I hated admitting to it, but she had a certain charm over me that no one else possessed, and I didn't like it.

I took a step back. "Meg, this is important, where is Crowley?" I kept my voice as steady as I could.

She pretended to pout. When she saw I was not amused, she straightened her face and shrugged indifferently. "'Dunno," she began. "I've been waiting for my beloved King to show his face for almost an hour."

That made no sense. "Why would you want to see him? He killed you."

She rolled her eyes. "I think I need to start calling you something that implies a higher level of wisdom than Clarence. How about Sherlock? No shit he killed me, genius, that's why I'm here. I'm going to kill the bastard myself, once and for all." She took a step closer, once again closing the distance between us. She pulled a blade out of her boots and caressed my face with its dull edge. Tracing the outline of my jaw, my nose, my chin. "I'm going to shove this in-between his ribs," she continued, retracting the knife from my face and admiring it in her hand.

She jumped backwards, a maniac grin spreading across her face. "Long live the bloody king!" She shouted in an accent meant to intimidate Crowley's.

Long live the bloody king.

*authors note* How do you guys feel about the new twist? Feel free to review or message me! Thanks for reading(:


	5. Chapter 5

CASTIEL'S POV

"What the hell?" Crowley muttered, throwing open the door to his office.

Meg was once again sitting in the worn, leather chair behind his desk, and I was seated in one of the two guest chairs facing Meg. I turned at the sound of his voice.

"Crowley," Meg began.

"Whore," he returned.

"You know I love it when you talk dirty to me, Crowley. It gets my meat suit all misty."

Crowley rolled his eyes. I cleared my throat.

"Crowley. Listen, something important has come up. I need your help. It's-it's about the Winchesters. When you went inside of Sam it… did something too him."

He examined me quickly, squinting his eyes in distaste, and turned his attention back to Meg. "I already did my part. I think Moose will have to figure this one out on his own," he said, his back turned to me. He now stood in between me and Meg. "Now in how in hell did you manage to come back, love?"

"What can I say, I couldn't stand to be away from you for too long," Meg said, adding in one of her signature winks.

"Crowley, please, you don't-," I started.

"Well, I'm sorry dear, but this whole re-appearing act was for nothing, seeing as I'm going to send you right back myself." Crowley said to Meg, cutting me off.

"Oh, enough of the foreplay, Crowley. Let's just get down to business," Meg began, pulling the knife back out of her boot. I had never seen a knife like this one before, except for when she used it to caress my face. It was inscribed along the blade with hieroglyphics, like a demon blade, but, contrary to a demon blade, the part that Meg held in her had looked like it was made of human bone. For the first time, I saw Crowley look… worried.

It was an unusual expression on him. His eyes widened slightly, his jaw clenched, the vein in his temple pulsed.

"Meg," he began, cautious. "Where the devil did you get that?"

"What is that?" I asked.

"Just a little something I picked up in the afterlife, Clarence. You know that gun of yours? That Colt? The one that can kill any living thing? Yes, well, think of this knife as the sister of that gun, only better. It never runs out of bullets, and doesn't have any constrictions. The Colt was made by a human, a hunter. Don't get me wrong, cutoos to him for making such a weapon, but, since it was human made, without any divine intervention, it had certain… _limitations_. That gun couldn't kill Lucifer, couldn't kill God, and couldn't kill a handful of other things.

"Luckily for us, this knife wasn't made by a human. It was forged by the blood of a Knight of Hell and the bone of an archangel. I would say there isn't anything this bad boy can't kill. Angels, demons, hunters. You name, it can kill it." Meg said.

One look at Crowley's face confirmed everything that she said was true. But how was that even possible? A blade that could kill _God? The God?_ And, admittedly, that wasn't even the most troubling part.

"How could a blade like this have existed and I had no knowledge?" I asked.

"Oh, get your head out of the sand, Clarence. Things are changing now. Heavens gates are closed. Angels have divided into rogue factions, and Sammy, the only one who could've closed the gates of hell, gave up. Things are changing. You've got to keep your head in the game, you've to know how to one up the competition. Speaking of competition," Meg continued, returning her focus once again to Crowley, "How's yours going? Personally, I can't see how a former Crossroads demon could win a battle against one of the most notorious Knights of Hell of all time, but hey, optimism is key right?" A smirk slid its way across her lips.

Crowley's eyes were shifting between Meg's dagger and her eyes. His face was cool, collected, concentrated, but beads of sweat were beginning to collect along his hair line. Her taunts weren't making it through to his brain. His one and only focus was getting that blade from her. I saw, and Meg was beginning to, too. She knew it was time to take action.

She hopped of the chair, closing the distance between herself and Crowley in record time. "I mean," She continued, "I heard you were the Winchester's bitch. That's where you've been all this time, right? Don't you think Hell deserves a king more… suited for the job? Someone who can manage to get away from two freaking hunters?" She placed the dagger against his throat, pressing slightly so that beads of blood began bubbling around it, spilling over the broken skin.

"Clearly, you can't give Hell what it deserves." She forced the blade in a fraction of an inch. "Clearly, someone has to take care of the issue for you." She pushed it in further. "Clearly, someone needs to get rid of you."

"Stop!" I yelled, placing my hand on Meg's forehead before she could shove the blade in any further. We both knew that, with a thought, I could send her right back to her death. She froze.

Momentarily forgetting Crowley, she turned her body to face me, sticking her had in the pocket of my trench coat and pulling my body all the way against hers. "Oh Clarence, sweetie, there's time for all of this later. Let me take care of the bastard and honey, I'm yours." She planted a kiss on my cheek that momentarily disorienting me.

"No, Meg," I began, removing her hand from my pocket and pushing her back. "You can't do this, you can't kill Crowley."

"And why not?" she asked, raising one eyebrow, annoyed.

"I need him. He might be the only one who knows to fix the situation with Sam. He was inside of there; he knew what was going on inside of the body before it-before he died. Meg, I'm not going to ask you again. You can either walk away now, or I will kill you." I tried my hardest to look earnest. I knew I could never kill Meg, I just hoped that she didn't.

"I don't like being given an ultimatum, Cas." She said through gritted teeth, but she took a step back, lowering the knife slowly back into her boot.

"Crowley," I began, "we need to talk."

I explained to him everything that I had figured out on my own, everything I knew about the situation, and held my breath when I finished, waiting for him to swoop in with advice that would save the day.

"Well, it sounds like Moose has gone and gotten himself into some trouble," Crowley began. "I'm sorry love, I'd love to help you, really I would. I just don't know what you expect me to do. As the King of Hell, I only know if souls are in Hell, which our dear friend Moose, is not. I can't tell you in he's in Heaven, Purgatory, or beyond. I might, however, know of the recipe to a certain spell that could switch you out with the remainder of angel that's inside of him. I will, of course, need something in return for my troubles though." Crowley said, a smile inching its way onto his face it.

"What is it, Crowley? What do you want?" I asked

"It's simple. Abbadon. Bring me her head, and I can get you the potion with a snap of my fingers. Bring me my head, and I can get you inside of his vessel."


	6. Chapter 6

DEAN'S POV

Cas has been gone for two days. I found myself walking around the bunker, with no clear intention of where I was headed, and ending up in Sammy's bedroom. Sleep scarcely found me, and when it did, it couldn't find a good grip. I kept slipping away, the weight of my memories dragging me so far down that it felt as if I could never be lifted up again. I had night terrors of all the times I had failed Sammy in the past. The difference is, Dad was always there to clean up my messes then. Now, not so much.

I told myself that I simply needed some fresh air to clear my head as I jumped out of the bunker and into the impala. I told myself that I had no clear destination. I told myself this was what Sammy would want. I told myself I wasn't doing the wrong thing over and over again until the voices in my head shouting otherwise ceased to exist.

One glance at myself in the shiny exterior of the impala showed just how much hell I had dragged myself through since Sam's… accident. My eyes were defined by dark, ominous half-moons shadowing beneath them. My hair, which I usually prided myself on being exquisite, looked as if it got into a fight with a brush and lost. I hadn't shaved, my stubble casting unflattering shadows across my tense jaw. I sighed the reflection away, opening the door to the impala, sliding my keys into the ignition, and taking off.

I pulled over as I arrived at my destination, removing my driver's license from my wallet. I stalked over to the dead center of the crossroads and began digging. My hand closed around the familiar shape of the box as I opened it up, placing my picture inside. I reburied the boy and waited.

I felt a shift in the air before I saw her. Turning around, I brought myself face to face with a crossroads demon. It was one I had never met before. She had blonde hair, cascading over her shoulders. Her eyes were a mixture of green and blue, and her face was sprayed with a light coating of freckles. At first glance she almost looked like Jo. Almost.

I bit my tongue to hold back the momentary flood of emotions that coursed through my body every time I thought of Jo. I closed my eyes, breathing deeply through my nose, and then opened them once again.

The demon looked amused.

"Well, well," she began with that disinterested, sassy undertone that all demons seemed to possess. "Dean Winchester. You see, we had begun placing bets, seeing how long it would take your sorry ass to wind up here again."

I closed my eyes once again, dragging my hand over my face. I couldn't give a damn what a group of Crossroad demons thought of me, but I wasn't in the mood. I looked at her, silently asking if her speech was over. When she didn't continue, I started.

"Listen to me. I need to make a deal."

"For your prophet? Kevin? Is that why you're here? Oh no. I'm sorry, I'm wrong. He's replaceable, right? There'll always be another prophet." I gritted my teeth at the mention of Kevin's name. She raised her eyebrows in amusement before continuing. "No, no, it's something more than that. Oh wait- it's on the tip of my tongue, if I could just… I got it! It's your boyfriend, Cas! Need to find a way to help regain his throne amongst his brethren? Guarantee his safety? Hmm? No? Well, I'm getting closer."

I had forgotten just how much Crossroad demons knew. How easily they could read you. It was infuriating.

"But, alas, this all comes back to little Sammy, right?" She took a step closer, practically closing the distance between us. "Everyone else's problems- well, those are their problems, aren't they? But Sammy… well, he's a part of you. Cas, Kevin, they're just placeholders right? People you can momentarily store feelings in, knowing they always care about you more. But Sammy? Oh, no, that's different. Sammy… is you.

"The bond you two have- it really is unhealthy. I mean, you must know that right? No? Okay, well, not my problem." She lifted a finger to my face, tracing the outlines of my jaw. My body went tense at her touch, and she cooed in a soothing tone in response. "You have to ask yourself, is this really what little Sammy would want? I mean, first you store an angel inside him without him knowing, do you really think he'd want you to turn to a crossroad demon to help you? We all know how well that went last time…"

I turned away from her. I couldn't stand to look into her eyes as she used that gentle, condescending voice, relaying to me words I knew all along, but couldn't yet face. She spoke to me as if I were a child, and never in my life had I felt like more of one.

But, in some cases she was wrong. I knew she was wrong. Kevin, Castiel, they weren't like that. They weren't placeholders until something else came along. I had lost so much in the past year; Bobby, Kevin, now Sammy. If I lost Cas too, I couldn't put myself down that road.

Then again, is it possible she was on to something? I came down here to make a deal, any deal, to save Sammy. I hadn't even thought of saving Kevin. What did that say about me? Was she right? Was I broken- unable to love anyone or anything outside of myself and Sammy?

"You try to convince yourself you're doing the right thing," she started again, continuously caressing my face, my hair. "But we both know you aren't. Sammy would hate you for this- that is, if he doesn't already hate you for making his body the play toy of an angel. No, Dean, the bottom line is that you aren't doing this for Sam at all; you're doing it for you. Sammy accepted his death, Dean. He was ready to pass; you just weren't ready to let him go. And so now, here we are. Winchester brother making a reckless decision to save a Winchester brother, who makes a reckless decision to save a Winchester brother. The cycle, to be honest, is getting kind of boring Dean. Sam's done with it now. Question is, are you? Are you ready to make decisions for the good of both of you, or are you just too scared to face the day without your baby brother there to look after you?"

And with that, I released my demon blade from its holster in my jeans, diving it in-between the demons ribs.


End file.
